Dougal, Ted, and Jack sat together in the lounge, half watching the TV that droned on in the background. There was nothing interesting on TV, and they had played every board game in the cupboard, and worn out a patch of grass around the house where they had walked day after day, looking at the same cows and the same bushes. It was true that they had run out of things to do, things to talk about, things to see. And Ted was thoroughly fed up with pre-recording his sermons, mainly because he knew most of the elderly who attended the church didn't own a computer or smartphone. But still, Bishop Brennan had insisted, and it did give Ted the incentive to change his clothes at least a few times a week.

"I'll tell you something, Ted," said Dougal, with his arms crossed. "I don't like it."

"Don't worry, the cartoons will be on in a minute," said Ted, lazily.

"No, Ted," grumbled Dougal. "I don't like that we have to stay inside. It just isn't fair."

Ted looked up at Dougal. His friend looked miserable. "I know, Dougal," he said gently. It was hard for all of them to adjust. "It might take a while to get used to, but I feel positive that we're going to make the best of this," explained Ted. "And it won't be forever."

Dougal whined. "But why do we have to stay inside?"

"To protect ourselves and others from the virus. I told you this, Dougal."

"But Ted, why do we have to stay inside. Why us?"

"Because we have to," insisted Ted. "Everyone has to."

Dougal suddenly looked sheepish. "Oh," he said, shifting in his seat.

"Dougal, did you think it was just us that had to stay inside?"

Dougal looked around, his cheeks going pink. "No," he forced out a laugh. "No, of course not, Ted."

"Right," nodded Ted, forcing a weak smile.

Just then, Mrs Doyle entered with a serving trolley. On top was a large teapot with four cups, and on the second shelf was a mound of cakes and sandwiches. "Tea, Fathers?" she announced.

"Mrs Doyle, there's a fair amount of food there and we need to be saving our stocks," said Ted, gesturing to the trolley. "We don't know when we'll be able to get another delivery from the supermarket."

"Don't you worry about that, Father," said Mrs Doyle. "I've been saving stocks since before you came to Craggy Island."

"Really, Mrs Doyle?" asked Dougal. "What for?"

"Come the revolution," replied Mrs Doyle, happily. "I've been polishing my gun as well, just in case anyone tries to steal from us."

Ted nodded. "Oh, well, that puts my mind at rest," he said, dryly.

"Would you like some cake, Father?" Mrs Doyle asked Ted. "I made it myself this morning."

"What kind of cake is it?" Ted asked.

"Oh, it's got… oh, what do you call them?" she sighed. "Oh, I can't for the life of me remember what they're called. All over the internet, they are. Everyone's got them."

"Plants," guessed Dougal. "Leggings… Starbucks…. Selfies… Netflix… Self-Doubt… TikTok…"

"Dougal," laughed Ted.

"coin!"

"Bananas, that's it!" cried Mrs Doyle. "It's Banana bread. Everyone is making it, you know. Very popular."

"And how would you know that?" asked Ted, struggling to imagine Mrs Doyle knowing anything about what's going on outside Craggy Island.

"It's all over Twitter, Father," scoffed Mrs Doyle. "I've set myself up a page. I've got ten thousand followers already and half a million likes."

"I'll be honest, Mrs Doyle," said Dougal. "I don't know what any of that means."

"So, would you like some Father?" asked Mrs Doyle, turning her attention back to Ted.

"No thanks, Mrs Doyle," said Ted. "I'm still full from the smashed avocado bagel you made me for breakfast."